Family Dinners
by afraidofthunder
Summary: Oneshot! FACE family with slight Snapped!Canada Human names used When France, England, and America forget about their annual family dinner, Canada will make sure they never forget again. Happy Ending


Matthew was mad, no, scratch that, Matthew was _pissed_.

It was the one day of the year that his 'family' got together and talked, actually _talked_ to each other about things other national affairs and they hadn't showed up. After an hour of waiting for them to show up, the Canadian finally came to the conclusion that they'd forgotten about the dinner. Half an hour after that, Matt decided that he wouldn't sit back and let them forget about this.. Hell no. If the three of them thought, even for a second, that there wouldn't be hell to pay for forgetting, the trio would be in for a surprise.

Matt snatched his phone from the table beside him and dialed his twin's number, it rang four times before the American greeted him.

"Hey Mattie! Hows the weather in Canada? Cold? Do you guys have moose running every-" The loud nation greeted, before being interrupted.

"Al, what day is it?" Matt asked, in a sickly sweet voice laced with malice.

"Huh? Doncha have calendars up there? I mean, I knew it was kinda desolate, but-"

"What day Al?"

"Fine then you weirdo, its the Twenty-Second of August."

"Alfred Jones, think long and hard about what the Twenty-Second is," The malice in the Canadian's voice slowly growing.

"Well, its, uhh… OHSHITMATTFUCKFUCKFUCKIMSOFUCKINSORRYFUUUUUCK!" Realization finally dawning on Alfred.

"Al, unless you want a repeat of 1812, I suggest you get your moronic ass over here, eh?" Matt finished and hung up. "One down, two hosers to go, eh Kuma?" He said to the little bear, who was currently trying to fit both of it's hind legs into it's mouth, a sight which would have made the nation giggle, had he not been nearly consumed with rage.

Looking down at the phone in his hand once again, Matthew dialed the number of the grumpy Brit who was next on his list.

* * *

The phone ringing pulled the Brit out of the trance-like state that Dr Who always put him in. Annoyed, he grabbed the device from his pocket and glanced at the caller ID, which read _Canada._

"Wonder what he wants," Arthur mumbled to himself. After answering, he was greeted by the deathly whisper of his former charge.

"Hello Dad. I'd just like to say that you have two hours to get to Toronto before I consider starting WWIII."

"Matt, what the bloody hell is this about? Dr Who is on!" The Brit replied, utterly confused and somewhat annoyed.

"Two hours Dad.." Matthew reminded him, before ending the call.

"What the fucking hell?" Arthur shouted to no-one. He was about to call back, when the day's date caught his eye.

"Oh piss." He mumbled, before sprinting out the door.

* * *

Matthew hoped, for his dad and brother's sake, that they showed up. He really didn't want to start a war, but God have mercy on his family if they didn't show. The Canadian then remember that he needed to call his Papa.

The phone only rang once before the cheery Frenchmen picked up.

"Bonjour Mattieu! 'ow can I 'elp my darling son?"

"Papa, You're late."

"Late for what, mon petit lapin?" Confusion etched in Francis' voice.

"Dinner, Papa. I'd suggest you get here within the next hour or two."

"Mon dieu! I'll be zere soon!"

"Oh, and Papa?"

"Oiu?"

"Si vous n'êtes pas ici dans deux heures, je vais vous Castro avec un bâton de hockey." And with that, the Canadian hung up. Now all he had to do was wait for the three to show up.

* * *

Somehow, the trio managed to show up at Matthew's house at the same time. They exchanged identical looks of fear as the door swung open. They were met by the Canadian with a hockey stick in one hand, and the other pointed towards the dining room. Francis flinched at the sight of the stick.

Once the three were seated, the almost invisible nation began to speak.

"You're lucky I don't kill ya on the spot, honestly. I mean I can deal with being forgotten at meetings.. And my birthday.. And Christmas.. And Thanksgiving.. But not today! Y'know, if we were human, you would've been put in jail when I was little for negligence! Negligence! You're the worst family I've ever seen, and yet, I could deal with it. You know why?" The Canadian asked, a questioning glare upon his normally calm face. The trio shook their heads.

"It's because I had today to look forward to. One day, every year, where we were a _real family_. One day where you _remembered _me!" Matthew then collapsed, angry sobs shaking his entire body.

Francis was the first to move. He pulled Matthew out of his chair and into a tender embrace.

"Mattieu, mon cher, I am sorry. I 'ave failed you. I swear on my life zat I will never forget about you again," He whisper into the distraught boy's ear. In response, Matt only hugged the Frenchman tighter.

America, not one to be outdone, swore to send the Canadian maple syrup every day, and to visit on the holidays, no matter what.

Matthew accepted the twos apologies and hugged them close. Alfred and Francis sent Arthur, who was still sat in his chair, expectant glances. Arthur pulled the boy from their embrace and looked him in the eye.

"Poppet, just because we don't pay as much attention to you, it doesn't mean you are forgotten, just better at being independent than your brother. Although tonight was a mistake that will not be repeated. We really do love you Matthew," nods of agreement echoed through the other two.

"I love you too," Matt replied with a teary smile. "Just promise to never forget. Or I may have to kill ya, eh?"

"Pinkie swear!" Alfred shouted

"Oui, of course!" Francis smiled

The Brit merely ruffled Matthew's hair and suggested they actually eat dinner.

The semi-dysfunctional family went on to have a lovely evening. And, fearing war, or worse, Matthews unhappiness, a family dinner was never missed, a birthday never forgotten, and a holiday never spent alone again.

**the end**

* * *

**Translations:**

Bonjour- Hello

Mon petit lapin- My little rabbit

Mon dieu- My God

Oiu- Yes

Si vous n'êtes pas ici dans deux heures, je vais vous Castro avec un bâton de hockey- If you're not here in two hours, I'll castrate you with a hockey stick

Mon cher- My dear

* * *

**A/N:**

Ah, FACE family. I fucking loved writing this, even though it took me forever, due to the fact that my own little family decided to play a game called 'lets see how many times we can interrupt her before she starts throwing things' but its finished, and I'm happy with it!

Reviews and Favorites are met with squeals of glee!


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